her a moment to reply. “You can let go of Ailesse’s hand now.”
Ailesse and I glance at each other. Our hands break apart at the same time. Mine is suddenly cold.
“Where’s the flute, Jules?” Ailesse asks.
“It’s . . . safe,” she replies.
My gut twists. Something is wrong. I see it in the desperate but determined look on Jules’s face. “What are you doing?”
She swallows. “What you can’t do, Bastien.”
“Jules . . .” Ailesse’s voice trembles dangerously. “That flute is the only real weapon my mother has against the dead. Give—it—to—me.”
“I will.” Jules takes a steeling breath. “Once you give me all your grace bones.”
“What?” Ailesse’s leg muscles tense up against mine. “You can’t be serious. The dead will attack Dovré next if they’re not stopped. Give me the flute. Now.”
“No.”
In a flash, Ailesse pulls into a crouch and lunges for Jules.
Jules anticipates her and jumps out of the hollow. Ailesse bounds after her. Marcel and I share a wide-eyed glance and scramble to intervene.
Ailesse is already on top of Jules, pinning her down. “Where did you hide it?” She shakes her, but Jules stubbornly mashes her lips together. Ailesse turns furious eyes on Marcel. “Tell me where it is!”
He freezes, halfway out of the hollow. “I . . . promised not to.”
Ailesse’s lip curls. She springs off Jules and pounces for Marcel. I jump between them, and Ailesse knocks into me instead. We both topple to the ground. She jerks up to her knees, and I pull up and grab her shoulders. “Wait!” I’m well aware she has the strength to break free anytime she wishes. “We can talk this through.”
“We don’t have time!”
“Then give me your bones.” Jules sits up, forest mulch in her braid.
Ailesse’s eyes narrow. “That’s like asking me to cut out my heart.”
“I understand.” Jules spares me a pained glance. “But it’s the only way to protect Bastien from you.”
I stare incredulously at my friend. “Ailesse could have left me in the middle of those invisible monsters back there. She just rescued me!”
“So she can kill you on her own terms—on a bridge or with a special knife or whatever ritual she requires.”
“She does need a special knife,” Marcel concedes, brushing dirt off his clothes.
Ailesse flinches and glances westward. “One of the dead is nearby.” She shifts protectively in front of me.
I can’t see or hear anything unusual, but I believe her. “Jules, give her back the damn flute.”
“And then what?” Jules hisses. “Do you really think Ailesse will willingly surrender?”
“I don’t know!” I whisper. “Everything is different now. We can’t be rash about a new plan.”
“Our plan has always been revenge.”
A fierce cry of rage splits the air, maybe fifty yards away. Ailesse freezes. “He’s seen us.”
Merde.
Ailesse rushes to Jules. “Please. I’ll take the flute and run far away from here. The soul will follow me, and Bastien will be safe.” Her brow twitches. “All of you will be.”
“For now, anyway.” Jules holds out an open hand. “The flute for your bones,” she tells Ailesse. “I’ll give them back after we figure out how to break the soul-bond.”
Ailesse ignores her. She darts back to the knoll and scours the hollow beneath it.
The dead man shouts again. Thirty yards now. I pull out my knife. “We have to go! We’ll come back for the flute later.”
“No!” Ailesse keeps searching for it. She digs through the wild grass beside the knoll.
Two more shouts. From the east this time. My pulse races. “They’re surrounding us!”
“I can’t leave it!”
The dead roar closer. Jules moves defensively toward Marcel.
Ailesse kicks at the grass and releases a cry of frustration.
Jules points to a spot between her and Ailesse, twelve feet away. “Throw your bones on the ground there, then I’ll fetch your flute.”
Ailesse purses her lips. She glances east and west. The dead will be here any second. “No one touches my bones until I have the flute in my hands. Agreed?” I can almost see her thinking, I’ll get them right back. She might have a chance. She’s still fast without her graces.
“Agreed,” Jules says quickly. “Now, throw them!”
Ailesse squeezes her eyes shut. Whispers something about Elara. Yanks the small pouch off her neck and tosses it on the ground. At once, she’s noticeably weaker. Drooped shoulders. Strained brows. But she still holds her jaw stiffly. “The flute. Hurry!”
Jules whips it out of her boot. My eyes widen. Ailesse blows out an enraged breath. Jules had it on her the whole time.